


The Blighted Bridegroom

by Silver Lioness (Rumpels_Darker_Dearie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, La Barbe bleue | Bluebeard - Charles Perrault
Genre: Blood Magic, Descriptions of Corpses, F/M, Implied Torture, implied non con, kidnap, secret love child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22259491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels_Darker_Dearie/pseuds/Silver%20Lioness
Summary: Summary: Hermione is charmed by Thaddeus Nott, Theodore’s father. But he has a de-ageing potion that makes him young enough to ensnare brides… once married, the brides are never seen again. When the last time Demelza Robbins was seen was at her wedding, Ginny confides her suspicions to Harry and Hermione. Hermione takes it upon herself to act as bait, but the trouble with this fisherman is – that doesn’t throw the fish back in the water – What is the terrible truth? When Hermione’s disappearance is bought to the Order’s attention, it’s a race against time for her life.
Relationships: Bill Weasley/Fleur Weasley, Daphne Greengrass/Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy/Luna Lovegood, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape, Lavender Brown/Ron Weasley, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Malfoy, Molly Weasley/Arthur Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/Charlie Weasley
Kudos: 39





	The Blighted Bridegroom

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta’s Ouatic-7 and KK for their help and support in writing this utterly twisted tale that was inspired by Bluebeard, a story from my childhood.

**Recipient:** worrywart

**Title:** The Blighted Bridegroom

**Author/Artist:** Silver Lioness

**Pairing:** Severus/Hermione, Harry/Ginny, Draco/Luna, Neville/Daphne, Lucius/Narcissa, Arthur/Molly, Bill/Fleur, past Fred Weasley/Hermione Granger

**Rating:** M

**Word Count/Art Medium/Craft Material:** Word Count 15,154

**Disclaimer:** All recognizable characters belong to JK Rowling and associates. No copyright infringement intended

** The Blighted bridegroom  **

Adumbral gloom welcomed her; darkness surrounded her. She was trapped inside a cellar, there was no light. The scrape of her shoes echoed throughout the room. A stumble and a smash suggested she was surrounded by wine bottles. Hermione gulped and hoped it was not expensive wine. She loved wine and could not abide by destroying good merlot, especially in an act of accidental magic or sheer clumsiness.

What could she do?

She felt woozy, slumping down on the floor wincing when the cold stone met her bum. She felt around her head wondering where the agonising pain was coming from. Something sticky met her fingers, cautiously she brought her hand around and smelled the tangy sharpness of blood.

Why didn’t she listen to Severus Snape?

Thinking of Severus Snape was a new thing, she had gone over every interaction they had, and she cried. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she recalled how they bitterly fought against each other. She despised fighting with a man she held in high esteem and, she suspected, actually could come to love. If only she had brought Daphne along, or perhaps Ginny? Why was she so stubborn as to ignore a direct warning from the man who knew her captor the most?

She had fantasized the past two weeks of a life together with Severus. How they would bicker over the latest developments in magic and muggle science, and how they would make up with vigorous love-making. Often she had dreamed of Severus, Rosie and herself in a beautifully decorated house – one with a large garden to cultivate potions ingredients and plenty of space for Rosie to play.

From that image, it did not take long for the picture to blur and shimmer into one in the future. Of her round with a child, his! A boy her subconscious decided. One with tight black curls, hazel eyes, and his father’s nose with his mother’s mouth and jawline. He’d break hearts!

Time here had given her perspective – and what she had concluded was that they were a modern-day Beatrice and Benedict, too wise to woo peaceably, but they worked well together. If she had taken notice of Severus words, actions, little tells before – she may have done the unthinkable and asked him out.

Now, she would never have the chance!

Her last thought before closing her eyes again was – what had happened to Rosie…

Just over two weeks ag0 she had come here to peruse his library. She had made a point to draw in the dust, covering it over whenever he approached but the action had made her remember exactly how long she’d been here.

Heart pounded in her chest at the sound of the jangling keys. A Pavlovian response to the sound of the scrunch of the keys grinding in the lock, the scraping of wood against stone caused a rush of blood to her ears. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Pale light flooded the room… all she could see was a silhouette in the doorway.

**Three Weeks Earlier**

This was just boring as hell! Since the war and the death of Brutus Prince, his great-uncle who was all that stood between him and a millionaires galleons, Severus was suddenly thrust into the glitzy lifestyle that had once enchanted him as a child. Now he had seen through the silken veils, the powdery perfumed lace tops of the older dowagers, the platinum blonde or the raven black haired young witches with their bosoms barely tucked in.

Young or old, stern or giggling, they surrounded round him sniffing for a wedding ring for his gold like Nifflers set loose in Gringotts. All acting like high-class prostitutes. The silver-plated copper feels to it gets to him. Is it not interesting that the razzle-dazzle can quickly dull one’s mind? He was standing in the corner sipping wine when he spotted a group of witches in various hues and fabrics standing the opposite side giggling as they appraised him.

DAMN, that Order of Merlin he was compelled to wear in public, it was a regular babe magnet! So his employer George informed him using his little brother’s vernacular. About the only interesting information, Severus had learned was that Miss Hermione Granger had been dumped by the youngest Weasley boy who had a slew of bimbo’s with no class and less intelligence flocking around him. Not that she suffered, revealed as it was that she had a queue of Quidditch Players panting around her, their prize a sliver of fame attached to her. Laughing at their antics would be silly considering that they were on the same side of the fence, except Ronald’s was blooming with all those termagant tittering twits!

Neither he nor Hermione liked how their fame had skewered them and turned them into pin-up celebrities for teens to crush over.

As for the third member of the Golden Trio? The latest picture in the Daily Prophet had shown a deliriously happy Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley, well good for them! He sneered as he raised the champagne glass just enough to surreptitiously toast the couple standing at the far side of the room.

“Still sore old chap?” hissed a voice in his ear he did not want to talk to right now. “Fine young filly of a gel, that.”

The lecherous Thaddeus Nott, perpetually on the hunt for young brides that somehow disappears once he’s wed them. No one knows if he is meant to raise hell with an army of women or if he’s a Bluebeard and kills them on their honeymoon.

“She’s a Weasley.”

“Takes after the Prewett’s by that gleam in her eye. Molly’s daughter alright,” he wiped the saliva off his chin with a silk cream handkerchief, “shame that one got away, what a lovely daughter we’d have made.”

“But then you’d be stuck with Potter as a Son In Law.”

The elderly man shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t mind that, good for the name, for the status,” he wiped his nose and then his gaze fell on the witch next to Harry’s other side. “Who is that besides the Potter boy? How come he attracts all the fine young fillies?”

It took a moment for Snape to collect himself, there standing proud and remarkably attractive was Miss Hermione Granger, “That’s his childhood friend, Hermione Granger. A biggest little pain one had to persevere with.”

“How does that work for you, hey?” Thaddeus' eyes gleamed lustfully as he swept his gaze up and down Hermione’s body. “Status?”

“Muggle-born, sir,” he said, he could never forget it was this man that made him the Potions Master he is today, “her only talent is in regurgitating textbooks by rote. A rather boring young girl,” he said looking into the middle distance. He did not wish the other man to note his own interest. Gods, the girl was his _student_ once upon a time. “Not worth anyone’s bother – besides I believe she is married to the Weasley boy.” A lie that was made to protect Miss Granger from Thaddeus’ advances.

“Father?” another ex-student had crept upon them. “Who are you talking about?” Theodore Nott also looked in the direction of Potter and his chums. “What are you staring at those self-important self-righteous Gryffindors for?”

Curling his fist around the glass stem Severus hated that he was forced, forever to cooperate with these people. Every last one, until proof had landed them in Azkaban. A small sniff and Theodore choked, “You could smell their smugness everywhere! It's nauseating.”

“Go elsewhere then boy because all I smell is a tempting witch,” the young man stared up at his father mouth agape.

“Close your mouth, Theodore, you are not a codfish,” Snape snapped.

“Quoting a muggle loving Nanny now?” Thaddeus chuckled. It was widely known that, to muggles, Mary Poppins was a children’s story, but to wizards, she was a Hufflepuff who managed to live on a cloud. Some said the thin air had turned her eccentric. “Seems this gel needs rescuing,” Nott the elder leered as he saw an anonymous wizard walking towards her, “Married to Weasley, eh?” he said aloud.

“She’s not married to any Weasley,” Theodore said, “Ronald dumped her for being too frigid!”

“In that case, anything is better for her than life with a Weasley no-hoper, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mr Weasley was one of the major factors in them winning the war, a fact the young man often boasted about himself in settings like this. In fact, he thought he saw a glimpse of contempt from Miss Granger’s eyes as they both stared at the boy with nothing but disdain. The broad-shouldered boy had an arm wrapped around a blond girl and a chestnut beauty, both had brains in their breasts and round, droopy eyes. They were from the same mould as Pansy Parkinson and Lavender Brown… hang on – they _were_ Pansy Parkinson and Lavender Brown!

No wonder Miss Granger looked like she was sucking in a lemon. He watched Thaddeus, easily 70, if not more, approach her, sipping his de-ageing potion, a nifty little liquor that concealed all impediments, scars, and bumps that often happened with experimentation in the Dark Arts and turned the drinker to the age they were their happiest. Thaddeus was quite a handsome man in his day. He just loved reliving the good old days rather too much! Now, this was an interesting thing to watch. How could Thaddeus charm the little muggle-born? Especially one as astute and as knowledgeable on who was whom and on which side they were on in the final battle.

Gliding closer on his own muffled feet he also disillusioned himself and settled against the wall near where they were talking.

He watched Thaddeus grow younger before his eyes and did not like how unattractive Miss Granger looked as her own mouth hung open in shock. So, this is how he gets them? Chooses the target, uses a De-Ageing potion to suit the age – unfortunately he was a handsome man and then all he had to do was turn on the charm. The young witches must be bull-headed Dunderheads if they thought that potion was permanent and that he’d stop taking it the moment they were married. However, all that was conjecture. He’d have a heck of a lot of work to charm Miss Granger.

“Thaddeus Nott, at your service,” the man floridly bowed, “you look as if you could be taken for a whirl around the dance floor. This is a party, is it not?”

“I don’t recognise you from the battle,” Hermione blushed on cue. She was missing a friend of hers – a fellow Gryffindor. Demelza Robbins, Ginny’s best friend and fellow Quidditch player – and the last time she was seen was at her mysterious wedding by her parents. Ginny had expressed her concerns and Harry was downright anxious. Any disappearances he took personally, it seemed he was a born saviour. Hermione had decided to act as bait, she was told to be coy and charming. It took a while for Hermione to learn how to blush on cue – as she was not an actress. “Are you Theo’s older brother?”

“The witch flatters me,” he sighed, “I am his father, but I took a de-ageing potion just to iron out the wrinkles for your benefit.”

“You are the father?” she started to turn her head and continued speaking as she did so, “I wish to have nothing further to do with you,” her eyes narrowed then she began to walk away. As she passed him he grabbed her elbow, “I said we have nothing to say to…” then Thaddeus grinned. He knew Severus was watching so he’d have to be careful, however, he glanced over his shoulder. “Let me go,” she said quietly.

“No,” he said, “come on please, one dance. A better way to let out all those bad feelings.” He sighed, then he gave a lopsided smirk. “One dance and I will show you my library, I understand that, like my Theo, you’re into books?”

“I’m not,” she bit her lower lip uncomfortable with the impromptu lie. Indecision rattled through her brain then she watched Ron dancing with Pansy and a weird feeling of jealous fury arose within her. She did not want Ron, but if she could not have him, she decided, then he could at least take a look at Susan Bones who had confessed her crush to Hermione in their sixth year. Although Ron had dumped her, she was actually relieved rather than jealous, but there was still the small question of what-if, spiralling through her brain. She noticed Lavender standing the other side, also fuming at the sight of Ron and Pansy waltzing, “Alright then,” she squared her shoulders, pretending to come to a decision, “why not? This evening is supposed to be about unity.”

It was during her deliberations that Thaddeus hand ghosted over her backside and lightly felt her soft curves. She was built like Witches used to be, with a full figure that she carried with such grace. He knew she was sulking but not sure about what, however, the fact that she did not act belligerent seemed to be in her favour, a girl huffing after a Weasley boy was not wife material. At least she behaved decorously.

_Stick to the plan_ , Hermione she sighed, _you’re meant to be hanging on this man’s every word. Not showing inexplicable signs of jealousy on another person’s behalf, honestly, pull yourself together._

She took the de-aged wizard’s hand. Oh, she had heard stories, but they were designed to keep witches behaving at a time Witches as a group, desired more freedoms. _Behave or Thaddeus Nott will marry you!_ The wizard was sure of himself, and with his true self, she could understand. Still, the seventy-year-old man was a lecherous old monster. Yet he was waltzing her around with all the elegance and grace of a man the age he purported to be now. This stuff was brilliant, why was this potion not on the market?

“Your head is swimming with questions, my dear?” Thaddeus nodded and winked at her, “I am a Legilimens, sorry, a natural talent one might say.”

Although blushing never accomplished anything, Hermione still did, “I profusely apologise,” she sighed playing the part of the shy coquette, “I did not mean to distract you from dancing.”

“No, they were intelligent thoughts and I wouldn’t mind discussing them sometime.”

As she was about to reply Severus appeared as if from nowhere and stood with his back to Hermione and eyes firmly on Thaddeus. “May I cut in?” he said in a manner of tone that said: ‘ _Say no and I won’t be responsible for my actions_ ’ “please?”

“Fine,” Thaddeus growled, “if you must,” to Hermione he simply picked up her hand and laid a formal kiss on the back of it, lingering slightly overlong. “I shall look forward to your insights, the address is Weeden-Knott Hall, Norfolk – Near Snettisham.”

“Thank you,” she said, “may I bring Ginny along.” Snape nodded slightly with agreement of her choice of companion, Thaddeus light scowl showed that he did not want to have anyone else with her, that he wanted Hermione all for himself. Hermione shrugged, “No, I won’t, not the first time,” as she remembered the plan. She had to go solo. “perhaps I can bring Rosie?” she mused aloud, “no, she may get in the way.”

Severus scowled at her, it may be a woman’s prerogative to change their minds but to suddenly back out of a sensible choice was not like Hermione at all, he wondered what was going on in her extraordinary mind? The last comment was clearly meant to be a silent thought, but it piqued his interest.

“I shall leave you in Severus’ capable hands.”

Once they were alone, finishing the waltz, Severus remained quiet as if it was a chore to dance with her. It probably was. Just before the waltz ended he finally opened his mouth. “Do not be taken in,” he said seriously. “Do not go alone. Take a trusted friend with you at all times. I may not prevent you from going…”

“No, you won’t.”

“I just want to make you aware that mothers use him to scare their daughters,” he sighed. “A bride marries him and suddenly she’s no longer there and he’s on the hunt again. You,” he whispered in her ear inhaling her jasmine-scented perfume, “had better be on your guard, or the same thing can happen to you.”

“I evaded the Snatchers for months on end, surviving on what we could glean in the woods...”

This little fact had always made him rage against Dumbledore. If he’d known how malnourished the trio were during the coldest months of the year he’d have provided Hogwarts food for them. If it was up to him those three would have been doing their little treasure hunt in the bowels of the castle where no one, not even the Carrows, could find them! If it was up to him he’d never have killed Dumbledore.

It was not until he brought himself back to the present again that he realised she had stopped dancing and looking inquisitively at him like a squirrel scrutinising its nut collection. He probably was open for speculation, just because he was still maintaining his cover and to protect the trio even though they were now old enough to get themselves out of trouble. Normally he’d not be worried, but it was an axiom: The three attracted trouble ergo, he cared about their well-being! They were like the Coyote chasing after the Road Runner, bound to fail when they weren’t looking. About the only one with any sensible head of the Fluffy Trio, as he called them, was the witch in his arms.

The other two were ceaselessly barking at the enemy, raining drool on everyone who was idiotic enough to stand under it. The drool maker was the Weasley boy as he now had Lavender Brown, in reverse to earlier she was now the smug witch in his arms. Potter was the one who generally barked the loudest and now he was an Auror – Merlin preserve them – his bark was listened to the most. Still, for all his puppy-like exuberance in the field, Potter was right on one thing! Nothing must ever happen to Hermione Granger, “Just take Potter with you when you go, Miss Granger.”

“Why?” she shrugged her shoulders. “I can look after myself.”

“Childhood spells will not work there.” He dragged her forward, so the tip of his nose was pressing against hers now, “You have to be prepared for anything. No one knows what happens to his wives and he’s had quite a few…”

Rolling her eyes Hermione growled, “A) I am aware he is an old man and I can control my emotions and B) we’ve only just met; it won’t lead to marriage!” Snape had never hit a woman and he was not going to start now but the insufferable girl was making his hands itch to shake some sense into her at least, “May I add – C) he’s a Slytherin and the first follower of Voldemort. He could be looking to avenge his lord. You might also factor in D) I was putting on an _act_ , Ginny was worried about her friend – Demelza Robbins. Harry has mentioned that none of her family has seen her since she married this man. Now,” she fumed, angry that her little play had been interrupted, “Let me solve this!”

“Let Potter solve this on his own, he’s the Auror, not you!”

“I managed to avoid Greyback and his pack of Snatchers; I think I can manage one old man who probably needs a potion to even _think_ about sex! Let alone anything else he might do to me!”

He ought to wring the jezebel’s neck! “Your protection matters! I have not been able to rid myself of the onerous habit of making sure the three of you are safe and well!”

“Aw, it seems as if you _care_ ; be careful or people might think you were missorted!”

“Just take Potter with you, that is an order!”

“I don’t have to take orders from you,” she yanked her elbow out of his grasp as she fiddled with her shawl. “I thank you for your dance and your concern. But I intend to solve the disappearance of my fellow Gryffindor – I think she’s worth it, and Harry and Ron do too!”

Goody-goody crusading Gryffindors were going to be the death of him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed as he tried to count to ten to remain calm, “Fine,” he snarled. “I won’t stand in your way. You want to be captured and destroyed, that’s fine by me. I am _done_ being concerned with you Gryffindors.”

“Now he gets it. Yes I want to be captured and destroyed,” she said back, her sarcasm matched by the roll of her eyes and the jeer in her tone, “I am too cowardly to commit suicide. Now let me go!”

“Not until you promise me you won’t go alone.”

In an unguarded moment, Hermione softened and eventually yielded to her ex-Professor and, also annoyingly, her crush. “I promise! All right,” she sighed as she stepped away from him.

Draco Malfoy had clearly decided it was his turn, “Granger, care for a dance?”.

“Sure, Malfoy, as long as Luna doesn’t mind.”

Draco Malfoy beamed at the mention of his lovely wife. “Bewitching isn’t she,” he sighed as he took Hermione’s hand in his own.

Smiling softly, lending Hermione the appearance of a contented kitten, she nodded in agreement and curtsied as they reached their spot on the dance floor. “Is the morning sickness bad?”

“Hey,” he smirked. “That’s what potions are for, right?”

After Draco, Hermione danced with a more competent Neville who arrived with his long term girlfriend, Daphne Greengrass. By the end of the night, she was danced off her feet.

Severus watched through hooded lids the lovely witch swaying across the dance floor, scowling only when Thaddeus played his trick once again. _‘Note to self,’_ he thought darkly, _‘make no more de-ageing potions. Let him brew his own blasted potion, I’d like to see him try with his real hands’_. He’d watched one promising Gryffindor muggle-born witch die, he was not about to see another.

_’And who’_ , he thought, _‘or what, was Rosie to do with Hermione Granger?’_ he thought, as he watched Hermione loop arms with Harry Potter, who had Ginny on his other making their way to the exit.

** Two Weeks Ago **

A ginger, curly-haired little girl wandered around Hogsmeade; she was three years old and going into shops but coming out with no purchases. She was lost and lonely and still hungry and Mumma always told her stealing was wrong. Her stomach growled and tears threatened to fall. No one bothered to stop the girl as she continued walking up the hill, through the woods and eventually stopped by a tree to relieve herself. She gazed around and saw a gang of girls in robes.

She stumbled out and managed to stick behind them but tried to keep smiling. Her babysitter, Angharad – a just out of school Gryffindor – had decided to go because she received an owl from her boyfriend. Mumma would be mad. Where was Mumma?

A gang of boys followed the girls and one was whistling at the girls, “Aw, are you so lonely, Chiswick, that you have to bring your little sister to school?”

The plumpest of the foursome turned around and scowled, “I have friends, morons.”

“Nah, Killian told me they hang around with you because of pity!”

“Shut up,” hissed a straight-haired blonde girl. “Shaz, I said nothing of the…” then her eyes fell on the little girl between them. The boys also glared down at the girl.

“Have any of you seen my Mumma?” then the girl swayed on her feet. “Mumma?” then she fainted on the muddy ground between the two gangs of fifth years. A Slytherin seventh year Prefect showed up as did Gryffindor’s Head Boy, Dennis Creevey. Astoria Greengrass and Dennis Creevey were rumoured to be Hogwarts not so secret, secret couple.

“Come on,” Astoria said as she hoisted the pale and cold looking girl in her arms, wrapping her robes around her. “We’ve got to get to Headmistress McGonagall.”

The girl was sleeping peacefully in front of the fire. Astoria was busy explaining the way that she was found. “Who is her Mumma?” Dennis asked. “She keeps murmuring for her in her sleep. What kind of mother leaves her child in this condition?”

Minerva hung her head low in shame, remembering the time when she was talked into allowing Harry to stay with the Dursley’s, despite her better judgement telling her it was a bad idea. Then she was furious that Miss Owen had abandoned a toddler just because her boyfriend called for her. Angharad had been one of her cubs, not a particularly bright one, but she had thought well of the girl. “How could someone leave a toddler entrusted in their care?”

Suddenly the door opened, and Harry rushed in looking dishevelled and wild as if he’d been hounded by the dogs of hell all night on the Scottish hills. Face smeared with dirt. Hair decorated by twigs and leaves. Clumps of mud clung to his fingernails, ragged cuticles revealing how sore his fingers were. He was red and raw with pain everywhere. His robes were torn through, probably by twigs and stones of wherever he went – green eyes roamed suspiciously around the room but visibly relaxed when he saw Rosie sleeping.

The sight of the relaxed toddler was enough to calm Harry down. No longer panicking, frantic, and wild-looking, he ran a dirty hand through equally messy muddy hair.

“The looks you are giving the child suggests you know her,” a seventh year Slytherin said. She folded her arms across her chest and arched a perfect brunette eyebrow. “Hello, Harry Potter.”

“Astoria,” the wizard replied as he walked over in dusty, wrecked Auror’s robes. Not wanting to startle the little girl awake, Harry took a deep breath then, as silently as he could, he regally knelt down to gaze lovingly upon the slumbering girl as he swiped a fiery curl of hair from her eyes. “What happened, why is Rosie here?”

“You tell us, Potter,” Severus emerged from the dark corner fed up with not being noticed.

Whilst relations between the two were softer now, they still bickered – like an old married couple according to Ginny – which caused a smirk to appear on Snape’s thin lips. Shaking his head, Harry was well aware this was not the time, nor the place, to start reminiscing.

1

She heard the rattle of keys jangling, clinking against each other, rattling until the right key was found. A light crunching sound, of the key wrestling in the lock, echoed through the darkroom, wrangling with her nerves that were already on stand-by. Her mouth dried up at the screeching of the dusty hinges, at the stone grinding against the wood. Whoever had captured her was drawing out the opening of the door. She must be near the only escape route there was.

Pale light from the candles on the sconces in the passageway filtered through the door but it was enough to make her squint. Grunting, groaning and hacking a deadly cough, was an old man. He hobbled along the floor and she could make out a rictus grin plastered on the otherwise stoic face.

“Hermione, such an old fashioned name,” the dry tone of the voice was cold. “I’m an old fashioned man. You had to sneak a look, didn’t you? Like what you saw? Mind you,” a rattling cough drew out what was turning out to be a highly smug speech, “it was my fault for taunting the nosiest in Gryffindor with the fact that I had a – _special –_ room.”

“Who – who are you?” she stammered shrinking back against the wall.

“Oh, sorry, you’re used to seeing me as a young man. This is how I look, Princess!” with that he clicked his fingers and sconces lit up, allowing Hermione a clear picture of who held her captive.

Ashamed at herself, she cringed at the sight of the old man before her. Wrinkles lined his features. Deep scars further marred his visage, over his lips, one down the left side of his face and a white scar across his right eye. Arthritic hands reached out, gnarled due to their progressive disease. His back stooped and his legs awfully bow legged. He coughed again, expectorating in the process. Dark Magic had left its toll on his body, Hermione shuddered again.

Her eyes wandered back to his face and noticed one eye was milky white and red-rimmed. The other eye was in stark contrast – never had she known brown eyes to look like black ice, hidden, deceptive and cunning. He shuffled along on a cane. There was nothing dignified about how this man had aged. One other noticeable aspect was the tremors in his body, how it flinched whenever he moved – a leftover side effect of the Cruciatus curse.

“Don’t call me Princess!”

He coughed again, hacking up bile. Hermione shuddered in disgust as he expectorated the gooey substance from his throat. “Oh, but that is what you are, Hermione – The Princess of Troy. Such a pretty girl, if only you would have married me when I gave you the chance.” Hermione grimaced at the thought of being remotely familiar with this disgusting man. “I have to say I have to thank Severus for making me the de-ageing potion. I used to but these hands, they’re not good for all that stirring… He had his eye on you too, oh he denied it – but it was there.”

“Look, if you let me go I won’t say anything. I need to get back to Rosie. Please!” she begged, fed up with the monologue especially concerned about Rosie. “I’ll not say anything. Let me go and…”

Suddenly he was upon her, rancid breath invaded her nose as well as the ugly scent of ammonia, “I want to marry you, Hermione,” he wheezed in her ear. “You’re mine!”

Hermione shivered, “I’m nobody’s,” she said defiantly. “I only belong to Rosie!”

** A Week Later **

Ginny Weasley held onto Rosie, stroking her beautiful red hair, and hugged her fiercely. She had always adored her niece since she was born and laid in her best friend’s arms. That she was Fred’s daughter meant so much more to the Weasley family. Molly was across from her, constantly pacing, sitting down, pacing again.

“I will kill the person who’s taken our Hermione away from us!” she snarled once Rosie was sleeping, cradled in a cot. Kreacher stood there with one of Hermione’s knitted caps on his head, the bobble dropping behind. It was his turn to take care of the weak little mite, his mate, Winky had finished her shift. Also, Rosie was Missy Grangers, and Missy Granger was special to him since she had treated him with respect – sometimes he dreamed she was his Mistress. “What is George thinking through all this?”

George was currently dating Angelina Johnson, but Molly was _convinced_ George would come to his senses and prefer Hermione instead. She was aghast that none of her free boys wanted Hermione. Even so far as cutting Ron down with some sharp remarks, her tongue delivering portentous doom on him, if he did not apologise and start again after news reached her that it was her idiotic son who broke the relationship apart. Hell, she thought, Ginny was better for Hermione than anyone outside of the family. Everyone put up with Molly’s ramblings and failed matchmaking attempts with good humour. Although she did shock people when she suggested Ginny date Hermione. Both girls had a good laugh over that.

“George is upset,” Ginny sighed. “Fred and George always had a soft spot for Hermione.”

“I saw Snape walk in here with Harry,” Molly said. “What do you think they do in there?”

“Strategizing. Ron’s also there. I join in when I can.”

“It’s been a week, Ginny.” Molly sighed as she stared down at the sleeping baby, “No mother should be torn away from their children.”

Ginny silently agreed.

** Weeden-Knott Hall **

“Had the Aurors here today looking for you,” Thaddeus said conversationally as he tried to coax food into her. “I can look after you.”

“I don’t need anyone looking after me!” Hermione said through gritted teeth. Her hands were now clasped together in chains, chains that rattled every time she laughed. “I am capable of looking after myself.”

“I wouldn’t mind Rosie – at least she’s half sacred-28 – a sort of whole, really as she is both Prewett and Weasley. We can ignore your part because of her father’s blood.”

“How do you know?”

He grinned, his one clear eye sparkled with dark mischief and he stroked her hair, Hermione had learned to take his ‘care’ with stoic calm. Flinching had given her a cut lip, a black eye and kick in the stomach. Then he leaned over, smoothing hair behind her ear so that she could hear every threatening word he whispered laughingly into it, “I watch you sleep at night,” he chuckled which caused him to cough, spittle landing on her cheek. “I have Legilimised you, my dear!”

Tears strolled down her face. “Do whatever you wish to me,” she whispered gulping down more sorrow, “but leave my daughter out of this.”

“Rosie _is_ part of it.” With that, he grinned showing his gummy mouth, chuckled and walked unsteadily up the stairs. “Show me as good a time as Freddie and you’ll be set for life.”

He shut her in the room again; her arms ached from being stretched up. Her legs cramped continuously. Her back felt overstretched, and her head ached. Her whole body felt like a giant contusion. Inside she raved and railed against the evil man who held her prisoner.

She wished she had never peered into that secret room, she wished she had taken Snape seriously and, above all, she wished she had gone shopping with Ginny instead. The only good things about this entire situation were that her injuries were mostly magically inflicted and could, therefore, be healed by magic… and that they were right!

Above all else, she fretted about her daughter. Hoping against all hope that she was safe, her last thought before she succumbed to shallow sleep was: _I hope someone is looking after my little girl._

Strangely, she did not mind if that someone was Severus Snape.

2

_Fred was beaming as he walked hand-in-hand down to Hogsmeade with her in her Fifth Year. She had always intrigued him. It was winter, and Hogsmeade and the road that wound down to the picturesque village was carpeted in nature’s white blanket. Both wrapped up in woollen garments, she was laughing at something he’d said. That was why she had said yes to a date with him because he made her laugh. Propinquity and Umbridge served as powerful forces to bring them together._

_They swung their arms between them as she skipped alongside him whilst he continued glancing at her; enjoying the sight of her reddening cheeks and nose, the gaiety in her eyes and the impish charm of her dimpled smile. When they reached Hogsmeade they made their first stop The Three Broomsticks where they saw Ron already drooling over the barmaid. Rosmerta was a curvaceous woman and proud of it – Ron was quite besotted with the witch._

_“Hey,” Fred said, “let’s kiss!”_

_“Here?”_

_“Why not?” he shrugged. “Let’s make Ronniekins really blush!”_

_Before she could object, he pulled her towards him with her scarf and planted a giant kiss right on her lips. The fusion of their mouths together soon caused their bodies to melt into each others. Her mouth opened enough to invite his tongue inside her, the moment tongues met their gloved hands landed in each other’s hair. That was the first time Hermione felt zings of lust roller coasting inside her system, landing in a strange warmth in the pit of her belly._

_They were met by thunderous cheers and catcalls, clapping and feet stamping in the pub. Ron had not spoken to her for many days after that. While planning the next DA session, Harry once stormed out, annoyed at his friends’ annoying bickering._

The clanging of keys against the door and scraping against the stone jolted her awake… She gulped and prepared herself for the worst.

** Grimmauld Place **

“She’s there, I know she is!” Snape exclaimed, furiously pacing the room that had pieces of parchment tacked onto boards with pictures and diagrams with pages of written hypothesis surrounding them. The drawing room of Grimmauld Place had turned into a crime think-tank. “What does he say?”

“Only that she came to tea and left in a good mood – whatever happened after that,” Harry shrugged, “is up to the gods.” He slumped in a wing-back chair once favoured by Sirius and rubbed his eyes, dislodging his glasses. Hair messier than ever, “It’s been two weeks now.” He threw his head back and sighed.

“I’m on Severus’ side,” Ron said, balling his fists against the table he was hunched over with more parchment scattered over it – Ron was more comfortable calling Snape by his first name and Snape seemed to accept it. “Hermione’s got to be with that bastard!” He ran his hands through his own unruly locks. “That statement is too trite for my taste and do you notice how his eyes glance around the room and the way his top lip perspires?”

“And yet here we are sitting around like useless Flobberworms whilst we’re waiting on a warrant to search his home. The fact that Malfoy runs that office has not escaped my notice.”

“What are you suggesting, Potter?” Snape asked already armed with the deadly arched eyebrow that used to scare and belittle children, now used only for Potter’s benefit whenever he said something dumb.

“Slytherins’ protect their own!” Harry responded viciously.

“He gives Warrants to me,” Ron said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Then how come _I’m_ the one that has to beg him for these things and no-one else does?”

Ron sniggered, “perhaps he likes you, Harry!”

“Shut up you,” Harry glared at his best friend. “It’s Rosie I’m feeling for in all of this.”

“All right, Potter,” Snape sighed also running a hand through his own now cleaner locks – he had been forced to take care of himself since he became a Public Hero – the past two weeks had his heartbeat at frantic speeds. He could not lose her, not when he had just admitted that he liked her. Dancing with her was a joy, she did not giggle, jest, push her breasts up against him to make him notice, or give false flatteries. Nothing was plastic about Hermione Granger; she was real. “I will ask for it. Don’t ever say I don’t do anything for you.”

Harry offered a lopsided grin, “When have I ever said you don’t do anything for me?”

“Since we met!”

3

Snape strolled through the halls of the ministry and sneered at any and all the witches swooning as they caught his eye. He entered Draco Malfoy’s office the same way he loved to come into his classes. “Draco,” he snarled, thumping his fist against the startled man’s desk.

“What do you want, sir?”

“Do not ‘sir’ me,” Snape said as he roughly grasped onto the front of Draco’s robes, pulling the quivering man up so their noses touched. “Where. Is. The. Warrant?”

“What warrant?”

“Potter asked for a warrant to search for Hermione, where is it?”

Malfoy’s blue eyes widened as his long blond hair flopped over his face, “Theo’s my friend I didn’t…”

“Do. Not. Insult. Me. Draco!” Snape hissed, “Master Nott has no empathic feelings for his father and his father certainly doesn’t care about Theodore. You have five minutes to find that warrant, sign it, and reunite a mother with her daughter!”

With that Snape dropped Malfoy, discarding him in the seat like he was a dirty rag. The chair rocked back with the force of the shove. Something in his old teacher’s demeanour was different. Again, Malfoy’s eyes widened comically, and his mouth hung open!

“You _care_ for her,” he gasped. “Don’t you?”

“Yes, yes, damn you, I do.”

“Merlin! Talk about having a type,” he muttered but not quietly enough.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Snape hissed back, pacing to and fro about the opulent office, of course, the Malfoy’s would not sit in a shoebox office. “Hurry up!”

Malfoy smirked as he got up, opened the cabinets and riffled through before he found the Warrants filed under one name, Potter. “I _mean_ ,” Draco insinuated, “that you seem to like Muggle-born Gryffindors.”

“I just want her safe.”

Silently Draco scoffed as he sat back down and picked up a white peacock feather quill, shook his head, dipped the nib in the blue ink before signing his name with a flourish, “There,” he said, “it won’t be you that loses a friend.”

“Trust me, with this warrant you might gain some!” Snape came back with.

“Hey, I married Luna. I got all the friends I need.”

“About the most sensible thing you’ve ever done is marry the former Miss Lovegood.”

** An Hour Later **

The Order had been resurrected, the Weasleys sat with grim expressions on their faces listening as Harry – the de facto leader – explained what was going on. Kingsley, Neville, Seamus and Lavender were intent on immediate action, but any interruption they made was stopped by a stern glance from Severus. Aberforth remained quietly contemplating the situation.

“Remember,” Harry said, “whether she is dead or alive – we have to take in the old man _alive_.”

“Why can’t we kill the old bastard of a perverted Death Eater?” Neville asked. “He’s messed with Hermione!”

Daphne Greengrass sat next to him, calf-eyed over her boyfriend taking charge agreeing with everything he said, “He tried to marry me,” she said. “I think he wanted to expand his repertoire! Maybe,” she reflected pensively, “he wanted to move on to blood traitors. Thankfully my father is quite savvy to his game. I had to have an order placed over him to stop him from harassing me. That trick with the de-ageing potion works only on non-Slytherins. Especially after Theo came to Hogwarts and warned us all. Hermione may be dead.”

“What is our plan of action?” Cried George, standing up, “she’s as good as a sister to me and I want her back! What do we do?”

“It’s only one man,” Kingsley said, the Minister was the silent leader of the Order of the Phoenix. “If we are dealing with the older version he’d just might be able to wield a wand, let alone anything else.”

It was Luna who filled in the blanks after Kingsley had spoken. “Thaddeus Nott is the son of Cantankerus Nott. He went to school with Tom Riddle and was an original Death Eater. Escaped Azkaban many times by using the excuse: _I need to be with my wife_ …” she stroked her belly in an effort to calm herself and her unborn infant. “We all assumed he was the only one who could take care of his ill wife. He put on a good act in the first war and he seemed to keep a low profile during the second. Good at potions and probably has plenty of space for a lab to develop them in. It is also verified by several witnesses that he knows wandless magic and can perform ambidextrously despite his arthritis.”

“He does and can,” Severus confirmed Luna’s point. “He only takes the de-ageing potion for functions where he can prowl on the hunt for, what he calls, _fine young fillies_. All the witches scrunched their faces with disgust at the degrading expression.

“Hermione must be found,” Harry said. “Are you all on board with this?”

“Storm in and ask questions later, such a Gryffindorian approach,” sneered Pansy Parkinson, who somehow had got her talons into Charlie Weasley for this meeting. Charlie looked remarkably uncomfortable with the way the ex-Slytherin stroked up and down his arm whilst puffing on an Egyptian cigarette in a holder. “Why don’t we go about this with more subtlety?”

“Such as?” snapped Ron out of jealousy for neither of his fan-club chose to sit next to him for this assembly.

“Instead of charging in like bulls in a china shop, why don’t you send in bait? A pretty young witch – she can flirt with him so that he’ll glug down that ingenious potion and we can get information with those extendable ears,” she said. “Perhaps we can send in two, one to be a witness to what is said.” Pansy glanced across the way at Ginny who glowered at the girl for upstaging her Harry and for molesting another one of her brother’s. “Just a suggestion.”

“That might work,” Daphne said, suddenly all serious. “He has such a high opinion of himself he’d think all witches would flock to him.”

“So,” Harry sighed, rubbing his face, “who volunteers for this dangerous mission?”

Immediately, Ginny put her hand up, eager to get her friend back and to play a personal role in her rescue. “Anyone except you,” Harry said to her.

“I am not sitting by whilst…”

“I want to have kids with you someday, Ginny. Not you!”

“Well I’m coming on the actual raid,” she sulked.

“I wish I could, Harry, but I am with child and I do not think Draco would be pleased with me?”

Pansy rolled her eyes and sucked in her lower lip, “Oh, we all know it is going to be me and Lavender,” she snapped, as she drew in a drag of her cigarette so her suggestion could be thought about, without arguing, with minimal fuss, so that she could get on the act and save Hermione before they found her corpse. “Aside from the one we keep having to fight over and unless he makes up his mind,” Ron slumped in his seat blushing as he knew who Pansy was referring to, “we are, as yet, still single – therefore we have no boyfriends to bloody well protect us!” Her snide comment made everyone shift awkwardly in their seats. “Now, which of us is the bait and which of us is the witness?” she puffed out smoke rings as everyone had their own thoughts on who could be better for what role.

Once decided they got to strategizing the rescue plan in a tidy, and organized manner, the way Hermione would have liked her rescue mission to go.

4

Pansy and Lavender were seated together on the sofa in the sitting room of Weeden-Knott Hall. One of them had one extendable ear wired to her body, the other end Lavender had secured outside the door – stuck there and charmed to look like a part of the ivy covering the eaves of the door.

The wires pinched against Lavender and she wriggled about, her hair fluffed up behind.

Nott was sitting in an old chair with his fingers steepled and tapping against them. The good eye gleamed with lust over Pansy Parkinson. Her dark bob cut reminded him of his mother. The deep red lips reminded him of Fuchsia Weathergale who married Amadeus Jugson. Tom Riddle arranged that match. The girl’s legs went for miles. She was perfectly polished and that…

No, he had Hermione, and he had a grand plan, “As lovely as the pair of you are, I am happily engaged.”

“Of course you are,” Pansy purred hiking her skirt robes higher – not that they were too low in the first place. She leaned forward so he could get a glance of her breasts, “Such a shameless old rogue.”

Her throat was burning up with bile for having to flirt with this creature, still, it was her plan and she intended to go for it with vigour. After the war, Hermione had made a point of forgiving those who could not forgive themselves, so Pansy was rather gung-ho in anything that might harm her new friend.

Truthfully, she was also fed up of waiting for Ron to make his mind up, she had now set her eyes on Charlie Weasley. That wizard could bounce her on top of any surface. Ride her on one of his beloved dragons. So having to flirt with this decrepit monster was a stretch even for her Slytherin acting skills.

What was interesting was that Knott seemed to grow younger with every sip of his tea… hmm, so that is what he does? Dilutes it so he can play the parlour trick and by the end, the witch is charmed.

5

Harry was sitting with another extendable ear and awaiting a Patronus. He had decided to track down missing witches – in the past four decades at least sixty missing witches had been seen last with Thaddeus Nott. Either he was trying to compete with Solomon, or there was something else going on. Perhaps they were used in Dark Rites, perhaps – from the cases of the fifties – they were decomposed to bones.

They were all of a type, brunettes, brown-eyed, pale-skinned. They were all Hermione’s – in various heights, weights, and appearances but they were all described as bookish, intelligent, and single. Severus was rubbing his hands down his face. His knees jiggled up and down, a sign of impatience and the need for a cigarette.

“We’ll get there,” Harry said. “We’re finally doing things the Slytherin way.”

“That is what worries me,” Ron sulked. “I wanted to do things the way we usually do them. We’d be back with her by now.”

Snape sat back and rolled his eyes, “We want her alive not dead. This man can cast the killing curse without a wand. He was _the closest_ to Tom Riddle in his school days. Although, we all know she’s there she cannot be compromised. Let Ms Parkinson do her work.”

“I still don’t like it. I have Luna working on a profile of this guy and he has done some seriously disturbing things.”

“HARRY!” Luna rushed in with a piece of parchment rustling in her hand.

“What?”

“I got something and, erm, you’re not going to like it.”

“Do not stall us, Mrs Malfoy,” Severus said. “We want Hermione back so tell us what you know!”

“I ran some Arithmancy on both their names and Hermione is proven fertile,” Luna’s lips were thin with worry. Her wide blue eyes dulled due to her serious task. “Read some of those files aloud again, Harry. You should have sent me in, he won’t be interested in Pansy or Lavender.”

“Why not?”

“Just read some of those reports aloud, the names, their status’ and their health circumstances.”

As Luna had never let him down before, Harry picked a random one from the messy pile on the table and perched his bum on the table. Quickly he opened it: “1954 - Patricia Ollerenshaw, Health: Weak, asthmatic. Children: Given birth 2 years ago.” Then he snatched up another one. Scanning through to the relevant information that would connect these women to Hermione. “1987 - Heather Fallow, Health: Harelip, poor hearing. Children: Given birth 1 year ago,” he threw that down, Snape bowed his head in sadness. Heather was a Ravenclaw and one of the few he actually respected, and she liked him in return for she never went along with the teasing, “1995 – Lydia Fransham – Health: A weak wrist, asthmatic. Children: Given birth 6 months ago.”

Ron picked up one: “1967 – Greta Austen – Health: Given birth 2 months ago.”

Harry’s eyes zoomed over more in a feverish manner, “They are all Muggle-born.”

Luna whispered, “Fertile Muggle-borns, why would he want to… and how come there are so many?”

“We have to abort the mission, neither Parkinson _nor_ Brown are Muggle-born.”

“We need a Muggle-born…” Severus sighed. “We can’t use Slytherin actions – the more we talk, the more likely we’ll find Hermione dead.”

“I’ve just run some of the figures,” Luna sighed, she looked as if she was about to vomit. “Get them out of there!” she panicked. “They’ll die if we don’t.”

6

“Scarlet and Emerald, are you alone?”

“We’re powdering our noses. Why?” Pansy asked through the ear.

Harry’s voice filtered through, “You have to get out of there. Mission Abort. Abort!”

“Scarlet,” Pansy whispered, “mission Abort.”

“I should say,” said a dark voice, the two girls turned, and Lavender’s eyes widened as the man grabbed Pansy by the hair.

Thaddeus Nott was in young man form; he was strong and wickedly handsome. “I won’t kill you so here’s what we’ll do, you will follow me and smile – my wand is ready in one hand and I can perform wandless spells, not namby-pamby ones like Lumos, but real ones like Crucio.”

He confiscated their wands then lowered the Anti Apparition wards so that he could Apparate with his prisoner when he dealt with these idiotic bitches and walked with them, wand stuck to Pansy’s side, whilst Lavender had his hand wrapped around her waist both ready to perform sinfully dark spells on them utilising his talent of ambidextrous magic.

“You can tell the Order, ‘nice try!’”

He opened the gates to push the Brown girl out so that she could run, but Parkinson was dead for even thinking she was his type. He had his type – it took four decades but he found the perfect one.

If only Hermione could see the bigger picture. Could truly visualise his real self behind that decrepit skeleton he usually was. Could understand her role was meant to be more than just Harry Potter’s sidekick!

Once the gates opened to a drop of his blood he shoved Lavender out, just as the gates shut he pushed Pansy against them and smiled at her, “I would keep you around, but I finally have my perfect pet – the others were practice but I finally have the right one.”

“What do you want with Hermione?” Pansy tried to free herself from the tight grasp. “And what do you mean by others?”

He moved his wand from her sternum to her temple. “You know too much, Parkinson, but let me tell you, another time, another century – who knows.”

“What do you mean another century!”

“That’s one thing you can’t find out! AVADA—”

Before he managed to finish the death spell several sharp cracks of apparition deafened the wizard. Whilst he was distracted, Pansy bent his right arm and kneed him in the lower back before kicking behind his knees to make him kneel. Through the dust and the detritus, like an avenging angel, Harry stepped forward, his red cape billowing out behind him and his wand pointing at Thaddeus' chest, eyes flashed anger and concern.

“What have you done with Hermione?” he growled at this odious man who’s breath smelled like rancid cheese.

“I’ve done nothing,” he said confidently smirking, “nothing that she doesn’t like. I’ll soon have her eating out of my paw.”

“Not good enough,” Snape snarled, rushing up to the currently prostrate Nott, “Where. Is. She?”

“Remaining silent?” Harry asked, “It won’t work. I have full authority to search your mansion. Every. Little. Inch,” he shoved the parchment with Malfoy’s signature on it at Nott. Thaddeus’ eyes moved from side-to-side. “Now, for the last time. Where. Is. She?”

All Thaddeus did was smirk up at Harry, “You can only find her in hell!”

** Present Day **

… All she could see was a silhouette in the doorway.

“N-no,” she stammered, “don’t hurt me, please!” The sound of feet running down the steps, a Lumos almost blinded her. Then she felt hands on her, she was whimpering and crying, “I can look after myself, I don’t need anyone, please don’t hurt my baby. I’ll do what you want if you leave Rosie alone.”

“Ssshh, Hermione,” a soft dark voice soothed her, already healing her from within.

“HERMIONE!” Ron shouted.

“Ronald, it’s all right, I found her!” Severus cried.

“Rosie, my baby, Rosie,” she muttered as her voice drifted off.

“No, Hermione!” the voice said urgently. “No, stay awake – don’t close your eyes, hey – Hermione,” he gently tapped her face softly, with his fingers in an effort to keep her levels of consciousness up. “Please, don’t close your eyes!”

Her head fell limp in the crook of his arm. “HERMIONE!” someone else yelled, different shouts echoed but the closest ones were from Hermione’s own inner circle, “HERMIONE!”

“I’ve got her, I need more light,” Snape yelled, and a thunderous rush of feet pounded through the halls and several Lumos’ hit the twisted faces of Hermione and Snape at once. Snape was on his knees holding the chained Hermione in his lap, his own expression twisted in some sort of indefinable rage and anger once his gaze lit upon all her injuries. She’d grown thin from lack of food, her lack of hygiene showed in the crusted up dirt on her face and the clumping of her fingernails. The ones holding her had to breathe with their mouth open as she stunk of excrement and urine. She was in an awful state. Goodness knows how long it would take her to recover from this, but first, she needed a bath – a pain potion, a sleeping potion, and muscle relaxant tincture.

“She needs medical attention,” he panted.

Kingsley stepped forward and tried to release her bonds, but they were stuck fast. Then Bill and Fleur elbowed their way through the group and worked in perfect tandem as they deconstructed the curses holding the metalwork in place. Eventually, the chains snapped open and her arms immediately fell to her side. Snape stood up holding her with effortless ease as if she weighed no more than a feather. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Severus walked elegantly up the steps. Molly turned her head into Arthur’s chest, unable to bear seeing one of her own in such pain.

“I am going to St Mungo’s,” he said calmly. “Whatever she saw here he didn’t want anyone to find – I suggest you thoroughly check this cell for clues as to what could have happened to the other brides. Our Hermione would have left something, somewhere!”

“Wait,” Harry interrupted. “There’s writing in the dust.” Bill, Fleur and Ron offered light to read it. “What is that? A 3 or a 5 or an 8…”

“That is a D,” Ron proclaimed pointing at something else.

Kingsley added his wand to the light, “8,” he declared. “That’s an 8 – so it’s 8th – the D is followed by an O.”

“Door,” Bill finished. “8th Door – that’s an arrow and it’s pointing Right. 8th door – right? On the right or right turn?”

“Zat Is a 2,” Fleur said, “so zat means eizer 8th door on ze right second floor, or 2 right turns to ze 8th door on ze right?”

“We’ll figure it out when we get there,” Bill said. “It’s enough to keep us going.”

“Severus, Arthur and I will be going to St Mungo’s with you,” said Molly, her brown eyes were sparkling defiantly, daring the man to argue, her lips thinned and her hands on her hips. Severus nodded.

Soon the group divided into the worried St Mungo’s group and the explorative second group who wanted to find out what was behind the mysterious 8th door on the right. Hermione was starting to fade fast and there was no time to waste.

The rest split themselves into two teams of seven, Bill headed one team and Fleur decided to head the other and cautiously walked up the stairs, wands in front as they ascended the stairs. Fleur took her team down to the 8th door on the second right – or the first 8th door they came to on the second floor, on the left-hand side. Bill led his team down the left-hand side. “Clear the doorway and keep yourself protected!” Bill yelled. “I’ve unravelled the excruciatingly dangerous wards that could harm you, but this is a Dark dwelling, so be aware of where you’re going, and what you touch.”

Behind him, his team braced themselves for what lay beyond the door, another girl? A child maybe? The possibilities turned into wild theories that became solid speculations already lodged in their hearts after Bill had unravelled the pernicious charms Nott had used to protect it with. Then it was a simple, “Alohomora!” they said as one and the door burst open.

There was nothing there except a fusty lady’s lounge – a dusty pianoforte sat in the bay window. The mould scented room held a repugnant musty odour, and everyone clapped a hand over their mouths. Bill checked every corner of the room, unturned every stone, and looked under, over and behind every cabinet he could. The others knocked on walls, checked for secret passageways and glanced at each other. Bill shrugged.

That was when they heard a blood-curdling scream and a blur of ginger ran into the room and threw her arms around Harry, sobbing inconsolably at what she had just seen, Harry smoothed down Ginny’s hair and kept his arms wrapped protectively around her, though he had no idea what she needed protection from. He glanced around at the others in the room, but they had all collectively shrugged their shoulders.

Ron stepped up and rubbed his sister’s back. “It’s going to be alright,” he said. “I know that sounded lame, but Hermione’s fine.”

“It’s not going to be all right.”

Just as Ginny was about to wail even further, Charlie dashed through the door, “Guys,” he said, “you have to see this!”

7

Severus was pacing the corridor whilst the Healers were working their wonders on Hermione, he had plenty of time to reflect on when his feeling for Miss Granger deepened.

<i>A soft voice echoed from the depths, exhorting him to be well. The feel of his hand being squeezed as he lay in a state of shallow consciousness. A warm voice fuzzily reached his ears. A firm but gentle touch pressed upon his heavily sweating brow. He was struggling under the waves of the sea; he felt as if he was drowning in the deep black ocean he found himself in.

“Come on, sir,” she said breathily as if supporting his life with her presence was a heavy burden for her to bear, yet she chose to carry him along – staying by his side, being his own personal carer. “You’re stronger than this. Hogwarts needs you.”

Only his fog addled brain could replace the word **Hogwarts** with the shorter one, **I.** Sitting beside him was probably a world-class forgiver – compassionate and kind. The sort of voice that would likely think it can change the world if it protested hard enough. One that he determined he could love if only he was awake enough to enjoy it.

Four days later, so he was told, he awoke to the sight of Hermione Granger sleeping on his stomach, eyes closed but worry lines still showing through her slight unconscious frown.

He laid back his head. Self-loathing riddled his soul as he realised he had fallen for the voice of the one Witch he spent his entire career trying to shut up. How could he do it? How could he have allowed his fragile heart to fall again for the _unattainable_?

Now three years later, in the Hall of St Mungo’s, watching through a tiny window in the door, Severus saw the witch. He was positive he loved this lovely, impossible, irritating termagant of a witch. Heart tearing in two as several Healers obstructed the small glimpse he had managed to capture through the pane of glass that separated him from his true love.

He balled his hand into a fist, determined to get that son of a bitch the Dementor’s kiss if it was the last thing he did. Even if the feelings were not reciprocated she was sacred to the world. Without her, he surmised in anguish, the world would not be as peaceful as it was with her.

A healer with a solemn expression on her face walked to the door, he stepped aside so she could walkthrough.

“Is she…”

“She’s struggling,” the Healer replied. “We have her under sedation, but she has been under a lot of heavy dark curses that are affecting her system, eating away at her core. It will take nothing short of a miracle to get her better.”

“Tell me,” Severus said with an urgent tone in his voice, and eyes filled with tearful worry for what might have happened to her. “What he did to her? I can assure you I will save the witch who helped save the world.” His voice cracked with unshed tears, his shirt was torn open through his anger, and never had he felt so terribly alone as he did in this present moment, “Potions is what she needs, and I am a Potions Master, so I shall cure her!”

8

A serried row of beds in bridal white sat against the two long walls; the room had an extension charm. Right at the back, underneath the light of the window was a skull, with her yellowed bridal veil on it and decayed flowers on her chest. Some sad hanks of hair were still attached to the skull. Decayed bridal gowns clung to her skeleton. The poor witch died alone in this bed.

On the other side, Ginny was standing over another decaying Bride. It was frightening. “This could have been me,” Daphne said, “This was _meant_ to be Hermione.”

Luna’s heart broke for what could have been, She watched more being revealed and she fell to her knees and offered a silent prayer to the elements that Hermione had thanked them for their efforts. ”This is why she is… and… oh!” In a rare tender moment, Draco had to comfort his heavily pregnant wife, she trembled against his body as they came across the most recent one.

She was on the right-hand side, a blue-eyed girl with dark hair staring lifelessly at the ceiling, “Demelza,” she sighed as she petted her hair.

”No!” Harry wrapped his arms around Ginny’s waist as she sobbed her heart out.

“What do we do?” Ginny asked turning around in his embrace.

“We get the Aurors. These girls need to be examined. If only we had their wands…”

They heard several cracks of apparition then Gawain Robards and a team of Magiforensologists filed into the room and Gawain stopped in front of Potter. “Who stumbled upon this better be alive.”

“We don’t know, her name is Hermione, my friend.”

“At least her account is one we can trust,” he humphed gruffly as he surveyed the scene. “There has to be at least sixty in here.”

“We found evidence of dried blood, sir!”

“Take it, the more evidence we have, the greater likelihood of finding out who these unfortunate witches are.”

They heard a scream. Harry ran and discovered Fleur standing at the ninth door.

Heads floated in jars – all of them girls, all of them young, all of them brown-eyed and had varying things in common with Hermione Granger: “What on earth is he up to?” Harry murmured.

“He plans on making the Youthening charm permanent, but he has a type,” a silky voice whispered behind Harry. It was Lucius Malfoy, standing there with a grim expression on his face. Although the two had yet to exchange kind words with one another they managed to work in tandem on cases of lost, or reported sightings, of Death Eaters. The young man turned around and sighed but offered a grim line of the lips, green eyes flashing with anxiety and concern. “Miss Granger embodied the best of all these traits. He was going to marry her,” he sighed, “then use all the dark curses he could to wither her soul and her magic away. He would absorb it within himself in a special ritual.”

“But that’s…”

The sound of someone vomiting stopped them from talking further, besides, as far as Harry was concerned he’d heard enough.

** Four Days Later **

Fluttering eyelids proved that his potions work was correct, and he was right to brew them and pour them down her throat. She still had so much to accomplish, so much to do. Perhaps she could love. He was now holding a three-year-old little girl .with red curly hair.

Her tiny arms were wrapped around his neck, her legs around his torso. His hand spread along the back of her head and she was resting her chin on his shoulder, thumb in her mouth and her eyes closed, wearing her favourite pair of pyjamas. Ones with little rolls of parchment and quills looking like they were writing and then the scrolls unrolled the lyrics of “Summertime,” a line on each scroll.

“Hermione?” his voice was scratchy from little use the past few days. He coughed gently so as not to waken little Rosie, “You’ve got to wake up,” she moved her head to the side.

He decided to lower Rosie onto Hermione’s stomach as he’d figured, that after nearly a month, she would prefer to see Rosie first above all others. Most of her bruising had gone down and there was hardly any discolouration on her face. Severus sunk back down in his seat and for the first time in nearly 100 hours, he closed his eyes.

Deep in timeless slumber, Hermione felt something comforting on her, in her comatose state she wanted to protect the object, a little voice told her this was important, that it was imperative to her recovery to hold the bundle. The sensation moved quickly through her as a scent of clean child invaded her senses. Rosie, of course, it must be Rosie.

Her arms were heavy, it was hard to even budge them from the metal they were near. How she loathed the feeling of metal now. Her eyelids flickered and she caught glimpses of a man in emerald green and silver, blurring and mingling together to form a greenish, sparkly blob.

She gulped down some saliva that had gathered in her mouth. She felt like the whale in Hitch-Hikers Guide To The Galaxy asking herself silly questions. Questions like, where am I? _St Mungo’s, you silly girl!_ for some reason the voice was Severus’. What’s my name? _Miss Hermione Granger_ the tone failed to hide the annoyance the Severus in her head felt. How old am I? _21, I should know_! This went on for ages. In the meantime her eyelids fluttered open, the blurred vision soon came into focus and she stared down at the lump – Rosie! What was Rosie doing here? _Her mother needed her_ , was his response.

“Se-ver-us?” she croaked out as the man sat there snoring unable to hear her through the depths of his own slumber. “Thank you,” she smiled warmly as she managed to pull up her arms to hold the daughter she’d been missing for goodness knows how long.

“Rosie?” she questioned, stroking her Rosie’s hair. Her daughter was still sprawled over her belly, thumb in her mouth, and Hermione went back to sleep herself, content that her favourite people in the world were in the room with her.

Hermione sighed and she winced as she shifted position. Her dreams were of her and Severus walking out of hospital hand-in-hand. Hermione dreamed of a life with Rosie and Severus, of her friends laughing at a Weasley dinner, of happiness and a life she had wanted since she had got over Fred’s death.

9

Four hours after that, she awoke and was happy to see Rosie sitting at a desk with some crayons drawing, swinging her feet as she was humming a monotonous tune from one of the television shows she liked to watch. Then Hermione felt her hand being squeezed and turned around and saw Molly sitting by her side smiling up at her from the hospital chair with an equally concerned Arthur behind her.

“I am so relieved you are fine,” he said. “What was done to you was barbaric.”

“Has he really been arrested?” she coughed which prompted Molly to stand up and ply her with water. “Thaddeus, has he been arrested for,” she gulped down the welcome fluid, “for being a serial killer?”

“He is and they were waiting for you to become conscious enough to depose your side of the story.”

Hermione groaned. “I shall have to go on in a wheelchair,” Hermione said. “But if there is a God, that man will be kissed for what I know about his continual practice of the Dark Arts.”

“When shall I arrange the trial?”

“Three days, I am determined to be at home by then.”

“I shall sort it out,” Arthur said.

** The Trial **

Thaddeus really did look old and frail sitting in the chair; he looked nothing like he did as a young man. He sat there with his eyes glaring hatefully at Kingsley Shacklebolt, his mouth hanging wide open as if frozen in mid-laugh, his cold eyes then turned around and caught sight of Hermione sitting defiantly in her finest robes and her hair up. Ah, she did look gorgeous when animated by hatred; it marred her features for some, but it just turned him on.

“We are gathered here today to witness the trial and punishment of Thaddeus Nott. Mr Nott, how do you plead?”

“Not guilty!” he hacked out a dark cough with nasty bile spitting from his throat. “That girl up there is full of lies.”

“I have personally been to your house, and I have seen with my own eyes the damage you have caused to Miss Granger to ensure she could be yours and only yours. You wanted to escape old age; the older you became the more witches you killed believing their blood was good enough for your special potion, is that true?”

“No comment,” he sneered.

“We counted up to 100 girls – you did not even have the courtesy to bury them. You kept them in your rooms on BRIDAL beds which meant you must have had sex with them before they died, giving them the message that that was the last thing to see was your twisted, ugly visage! How do you plead?”

“No comment,” he sighed.

“Ladies and Gentlemen I present to the Auror’s lawyers evidence photos A1toJ1. – it is not pretty I can assure you.”

Since Kingsley Shacklebolt took over as Minister for Magic he swept through matters of their Justice system and implemented Lawyers in trials, and jury duty. The Wizengamot would then make the final decision, based on the evidence and the verdict of the jury. He also built another prison in the wilds of the Lake District for the less dangerous criminals. The Wizengamot flicked through the documents with the moving photographs, one started to turn green and looked as if she was about to vomit.

“You are also charged with continual practices of the Dark Arts, with Kidnap, severe torture and imprisonment of a witch and taking her wand without her giving a fair fight.”

Severus reached over to Hermione and squeezed her hand; she relaxed under his touch and near presence. Not able to look at Nott any longer, she turned her head into Severus’ shoulder.

“The Defence would like to call the witness forward.”

They produced Hogwarts: A History, the book of Hermione’s choice, and Hermione placed her hand atop the cover and coughed when she was in the dock – attended by Severus, as her designated carer. A choice Molly baulked at considerably, feeling hurt that her little Hermione did not seem to trust her enough. It was not until Hermione told Molly that she’d had enough to do that Molly finally saw sense. Besides she still got to see her Rosie.

“I swear upon the founders of Hogwarts that I will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help me, Founders,” she intoned. She was grilled, forced to relive every ghastly moment, every dark spell, all the torture when she was still coming to terms with the entire event anyway. “That man is a monster! Through all the events,” she sighed, “I kept on thinking of my daughter Rosie and how she needed me to come back. ”

The prosecution asked the same questions, to which Hermione gave the same answers. Perhaps this time with more emotion. Her harrowing account made almost everyone in the courtroom desire sick bags so they could vomit.

“I discovered those rooms by accident, I was lost on my way to the loo, and he had so many rooms and now…now I know why,” a white lie necessary for them to win the case, her lawyer advised. Vigilante justice would be frowned upon and would possibly lose her the case. “That would have been me eventually. I was almost giving up when the Order saved me.”

“Thank you, Miss Granger,” Kingsley said. “You can step down if there are no further questions??”

“We have all that we need,” both sides said at the same time.

“Please adjourn whilst the jury and the Wizengamot decide upon the fate of Thaddeus Nott,” Kingsley said.

Severus wheeled Hermione out in her wheelchair, right into the flashbulb and the Quick-Quotes Quill belonging to Rita Skeeter. _What have I got to lose,_ she sighed. “What do you want to know?”

Rita smiled beatifically as if Christmas had come early. Finally, she was going to have a Hermione Granger Exclusive, an official statement from the golden girl herself. “How do you feel now, I understand it took you nearly a week to wake up – four days to even hold proper conversations– how are you coping?”

The recess was filled with other reporters wanting their piece of the pie. “Enough!” Severus roared, “Miss Granger is still recuperating.”

Two hours later the Wizengamot had made their decision. Thaddeus Nott was strapped in his chair, Kingsley resumed his place at the head, arranging his robes with care. He sat down and blankly stared around the room. He coughed, waiting for the cameras to stop rolling, which they did under his baleful glare.

“The Wizengamot has come to a decision, helped by evidence and the jury,” he sighed. “We have, as you know, 50 seats in the Wizengamot. Due to the unusual circumstances we only have 27 present. I have decided to appeal to our new Supreme Mugwump, Lucius Malfoy, for the deciding vote, all votes being equal. The Supreme Mugwump took a few minutes to make his decision.” Hermione felt sick as she was waiting for the result. “On the first charge of murdering several witches for experiments in the ageing process, we have unequivocally voted guilty and with it a life sentence in Azkaban.” Hermione took to breathing in and out slowly to hide her tension at this moment. “On the second charge of kidnapping, dark torture, imprisonment and wand theft we had to rely on the judgement of the Supreme Mugwump.”

_We lost_ , Hermione thought in a moment of anxious impatience.

“The Supreme Mugwump has declared Thaddeus Nott Guilty of the charges and has suggested the Dementor’s Kiss.”

The crowd rippled with hums of excitement, women were vociferously booing, and men were glaring hatefully at the prisoner strapped in the chair. Hermione just sat there quietly sobbing her relief. Severus, her rock through all this, was hugging her around the shoulders and let her cry on him.

Like moths to a flame, Hermione was soon confronted by Rita and the other reporters, “Have you prepared a statement in case Mr Nott answered for his crimes? Miss Granger?”

Severus was about to tell them, indelicately, to go away but Hermione nodded and reached inside her robes for her parchment. She sat straight, coughed, and looked as if she could conquer the world – in spite of the tears still strolling down her cheeks. Hermione Granger was showing resolute strength worthy of a Slytherin.

** The Next Morning **

The Daily Prophet stared up at her with pictures of herself in triplicate on the front page, one picture where she was vulnerable and shaking in Severus' arms – whilst the others showed her fiercer side.

_In the last of the Dark Lord trials Thaddeus Nott, 74, was experimenting on young witches for a permanent Youthening charm so he could remain young forever. One intended victim was Miss Hermione Granger, 21, a beautiful and bright young woman who bravely stepped through the jaws of death and escaped to the other side._

_The lovely witch is also a mother to an equally gorgeous little girl, Rosie Fredericka Granger, but rumour has it that her name may change judging by the looks the utterly divine Severus Snape was offering her. This seems to be her type for Severus was also a Quidditch player at one time._

_(More details on pages 3, 19, 48)_

10

Sitting up in bed in Malfoy Manor where Narcissa was more than accommodating to the little witch, Severus was reading another copy and laughed. Severus had cajoled Hermione into allowing herself to be hosted by the Malfoy’s, eventually, Luna had said they were much better people, these days and Hermione capitulated. Within a day she was giggling with Narcissa over the fight Lucius had with Arthur – men! It surprised both women by how much they’d had in common.

“What’s so funny?”

“Apparently, we’re a couple,” he said as he showed Hermione the article as she ate her croissant.

Truthfully she was hurt that he found the idea amusing, rather than intriguing. “What is wrong with that?” her voice small.

“Because you’re a beautiful witch, and I’m me.”

“You and Rosie were all I could think about when I was alone in the darkness,” she said solemnly, “and I must admit something to you.” She coloured when she had his full attention, “I-I once had a crush on you as a student,” she said. “Even though I was with Fred at the time, I also wanted – no, who am I kidding here? For once Skeeter has something right about me. I do like you and according to pictures on page 19 you look at me as if I’m starters, main, and dessert; as if you’re hungry for me. Do you…in all seriousness…do you like me, even a little bit?”

Severus stared at her in disbelief, “You are an impossible witch, you know that, don’t you?”

“Do. You. Like. Me?”

“I am forty years old,” Severus hissed, “you’re young enough to be my daughter…”

“I can quote ten examples of older wizards with younger witches.”

“You’ve been through something catastrophically frightening.”

“I know that – I was there. For the last time,” she sighed with annoyance, “do you like me?”

Severus jumped off the bed like he was stung and started pacing, “Fine, yes, yes, you irritating termagant, I like you. I wish I did not, and I feel like a pervert, but I want you! I want you in every possible way a man like me could want a woman like you, but you’re only 21. You have a child with a dead man I can hardly stand up to; if he was a ghost I would not be able to look at him. Please, Hermione, I like you so damn much it pained me when you were gone. I could not think, hardly ate, and, as for sleep – I had none because I wanted to help the girl who helped me.”

“Woman!” she said strongly.

“Pardon?”

“I am a woman,” she said, “not a girl. A full-grown woman.”

“Woman then, you have been what I’ve been looking for, for months – maybe my entire life but I do not wish to stifle you. Once I agree to be yours you have to be mine. No one else, just us. You’re too young for that kind of commitment,” he stopped pacing and sank into a white chair, looking into the marble fireplace with a pensive air about him that Hermione did not wish to intrude upon, so she remained silent whilst he sat thinking. “You do realise I called my best friend a Mudblood, don’t you?”

“Yes, and I know you went to apologise, and she did not forgive you, which was stupid of her I must say.”

“Without her, I began my descent into the Dark Arts, I am still trying to fight off its seductive appeal. You’ve seen too much of that in your young life, why would you want more?”

“Because you— ” she said climbing out of bed and hobbling as fast as she could to him before collapsing under the weight of pins and needles. She ignored her discomfort and stared up at his face adoringly. Carefully she took his hands and smiled rubbing her cheek on them. “—Severus Snape is a clever man. One whom I can have a conversation with that does not revolve around Quidditch or the Auror Corps. I want decent and perspicacious discussions on Potions, Arithmancy, Transfiguration, and all other things pertaining to and of magic _itself_. You are the perfect man for that. Rita said you were divine, and I’m inclined to agree! Come to bed with me – I want to make out with you and only you!”

“With an invitation like that…” he smiled like a crocodile who had come across his favourite meal, “then what are we waiting for!”

He picked her up bridal style and carried her back to the white-feathered bed and they bounced together on the mattress. She lay back, looking at him with nothing but admiration in her eyes, and he glanced down at her with all the love in the world in his eyes.

“Carry on, Severus!” she breathed into his face.

He growled and lowered his head and slanted his lips to hers, kissing her properly for the first time. She wriggled and writhed under him enjoying the feel of his weight on top of her. Someday they’d do more but for now, kissing felt right. His tongue touching hers sent shock waves of hidden lust inside her. Oh she had been hankering after him since her sixth year. She still mourned Fred in her heart but now it was starting to heal, all thanks to the brilliant man thrusting his tongue in and out of her mouth causing her to sigh. He cradled the back of her head and angled it so that he could reach in deeper to taste the nectar she was freely offering him.

“Exquisite,” he murmured as he continued pressing kisses on her lips, cheeks, jaw and neck, heavily petting any inch of skin offered to him. “There’s no turning back,” he breathed heavily talking as he kissed her. “No one else but me!”

“How could I,” she panted back, reaching for the back of his own head pulling it down so she could sample his mouth again, “when I have the most divine man in all of the world?” she finished. They both stopped to breathe, panting their personal aromas into each other’s faces. Her’s were strawberries, mint, peaches. To her his smelled like tobacco, Fire Whiskey and something, just something uniquely him. “You’re mine, just as I am yours!”

“I think I could fall for you every day and it would not bore me!”

Hermione giggled. Neither noticed a little girl walk quietly in the room only to run straight back out afraid.

“Why was Unca Sevwus eating Mumma’s face?” She asked Narcissa at teatime.

“Because, my darling, that is how two unrelated grownups who like each other a lot show their affections,” she replied. “Your Uncle Severus and your mother clearly like each other a lot. Is that not a nice thing?”

After thinking about it, whilst chewing a scone, Rosie concluded, that _Yes! Yes, it was a nice thing that it was Unca Sevwus who liked her Mumma a lot_.

** Epilogue **

**June 18 th 2001**

“We are gathered here today for the union of this man, and this woman, if anyone has any objections they should speak now or forever hold their peace.”

It took Hermione six months of convalescence at Malfoy Manor to fully recover. During that time, she came to forgive them for their actions in the war. Draco and Luna were sitting on one side with Narcissa, passing their baby girl, Adhafera, from lap to lap. The first girl born to Malfoys for centuries. They were there to support Severus.

Hermione’s side mostly comprised of Order members and Weasleys. Molly was at the front, wringing her hands, tears falling from her eyes. In a rather unorthodox manner, both Lucius and Arthur gave Hermione away as a way to show unity between the families now that Rosie would be spoiled rotten by both.

“Good, then we may continue,” the priest intoned.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The ceremony had all the women in floods of tears except for Narcissa but that was not to say she was not moved by the sight of her best friend finding happiness at last.

Hermione turned around and her belly showed early signs of their child swelling and growing inside her.

The Minister for Marriages said, “I declare you now and forever to be husband and wife in the sight of all those present. What love has put together let no men tear asunder. You may now kiss your wife.”

The entire assembly stood up and clapped and whooped with joy at the sight of Severus and Hermione kissing chastely under the shelter of the trellis set up by the giant lake. Pairs of swans swam up to the shore bowing at the unity and love flooding the entire scene.

Once the kiss stopped, the applause was thunderous. “I love you, Mr Snape,” Hermione sighed.

“I love you too, Mrs Snape.”

The loudest cry of jubilation came from Rosie who was told kissing was a fine thing adults did when they were in love.

I won’t say they lived happily ever after because arguments, trials, and the stresses of real-life complicated their marriage at times, but I will say that throughout it all they never once regretted their decision to marry.

So I shall say they _loved_ each other ever after.

They and their family of five children!

** The End **


End file.
